


If the Fates Allow... Or Plums Are the Best Fruit

by Faustess



Series: Always in My Headspace [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Feels, Gen or Pre-Slash, Gift Giving, Hot Chocolate, Hydra (Marvel), Jack Rollins Feels, Jack Rollins Is Not a Douche, Jack Rollins Needs a Hug, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, No Sex, Not a Trash Party, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-HYDRA Reveal, Sad and Happy, Swearing, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faustess/pseuds/Faustess
Summary: Christmas in Bruges, Belgium - one of the top cities in Europe to visit during the holidays.  The STRIKE team is there for a hit and Jack Rollins walks with the Winter Soldier through the Holiday Market in the late evening.  With the lights twinkling around them and delicious smells in the air, it's better than most missions...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Jack Rollins
Series: Always in My Headspace [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551865
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	If the Fates Allow... Or Plums Are the Best Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, full-disclosure, this is not the typical Hydra Trash Party stuff. If you're here for feels, come on in. 
> 
> This particular iteration of Rollins is lonely, but wouldn't ask the Soldier to do anything beyond their strict mission parameters that he couldn't consent to. (Since the Soldier's basically walking non-con and Hydra's missions are... well Hydra missions..) ;D Hopefully y'all will like it anyway and hopefully I've tagged it enough! (If I've missed something, let me know!)

Winter walked through the Christmas Market in Bruges, Belgium next to his handler for this mission, STRIKE team leader, Jack Rollins. He wore a long black wool coat buttoned up over his usual tac gear and carried a large ‘gift’ wrapped in brown paper.

Rollins had insisted he wear earmuffs to blend in better and Winter still felt sullen about it. They reduced his ability to detect potential threats more than they kept him warm. And the band over the top of his head kept slipping and he hated them. At least the mission was a simple sniper job – one and done – and then they could get away from all these people and the tempting smells that surrounded them.

“You still sulking about the goddamn earmuffs, Winter?” the STRIKE team leader asked, arching an eyebrow. He was carrying a cup of hot chocolate and had a bag over an arm – a gift for Rumlow’s daughter and a couple of other souvenirs for other team members at the comm center who wouldn’t be able to walk through the market during the mission.

“ _Non_ ,” Winter said, glowering at the sidewalk, watching the pavement in front of his feet and occasionally stealing glances from under his eyebrows at the market around and the crowd of people around them. At least he remembered his French.

Something Winter would never admit to was that he loved all the colors of the market: the twinkling lights, people in their brightly colored scarves and gloves, the candies and cheerfully painted ornaments for sale in some of the stores – all of it. Rollins was usually different from the other handlers, but if the Soldier was really malfunctioning, it was his responsibility to correct it too.

“Fuck. Outta hot chocolate again,” Jack grumbled. “I’ll hold the package – go get me another. My French sucks.”

Winter handed over the package – his rifle case, carefully wrapped in brown paper – and held out his hand for the euro coins to pay.

A moment later, coins in hand, waiting in line for the cocoa and feeling extremely conspicuous, Winter wondered how much hot cocoa one guy could drink. This was the _third_ time they’d stopped. The market wasn’t _that_ big. They still had plenty of time to get to their sniper’s nest, but with the crowd and being out in the open, Winter wanted to get out of here as fast as possible – even if it meant leaving the lights and the sweet smells of the bakeries and hot cocoa behind.

He asked the girl at the booth, “Un chocolat chaud, s'il vous plaît.” _One hot chocolate, please._

“Pour ton petit copain?” _For your boyfriend?_ The hot chocolate girl asked.

Winter understood that she was making small talk. It was something people who were not assets did. Still, her question made him feel uncomfortable. Before his silence stretched so long as to be awkward, he half-nodded, “Oui.” _Yes._ What else could he say without raising suspicions?

She handed him the cup and a small plain Belgian-style waffle with the crunchy sugar. “C'est pour toi, parce que tu es si gentil avec lui.” _It’s for you, for being so nice to him._

There weren’t any extra flavors or syrups that might hide poisons or other signs of tampering, so he accepted the waffle. Still, unexpected behavior from strangers made him uncomfortable and he looked down at the cup and waffle, mumbling, “ _Merci. Joyeux Noël._ ”

“ _Joyeux Noël_!” she beamed.

Winter walked back to where Jack was waiting, grey scarf bundled up around his neck and stamping his feet to stay warm and handed over the change first, and took the bulky package. Then he shoved the cocoa and waffle toward Rollins, who gave him an odd look.

“It was free,” Winter mumbled, looking at a spot over Jack’s shoulder, face stony, but his cheeks felt warm.

They walked on, Jack tore the waffle in half and gave Winter the other half. Winter turned over the waffle and sniffed it experimentally. “It’s food. Go ahead – eat it,” Jack said with something close enough to fondness in his voice that he’d get written up if anyone else from the team heard it.

Winter would have to mention it during mission debrief – if anyone asked. They didn’t usually ask him to tell them everything because he had to then – and between wipes he remembered _everything_ that happened on a mission. Most of the time they didn’t want to know that much and asked more specific questions. When they asked what happened during their walk through the market, he could say that Rollins drank three hot chocolates and ate half a waffle. They would probably laugh, and Jack would laugh too and say something like, “Have you ever _had_ Belgian hot chocolate? Better than sex, swear to god.” Then someone else would make a joke about Jack’s sex life. And Winter would sit there like the lumbering lump that he was, his face a humorless mask and they’d think that was funny too.

He scowled and ate the waffle in two bites, hardly tasting it and kicked a chunk of snow out of his way, letting it splatter on his boot in cold slushy splats.

Rollins looked at him again. Winter could tell without looking that his handler was looking at him, trying to decide if this erratic behavior was going to escalate or if they could proceed with their mission. Right now, Winter’s chest felt tight and if they were on base and a technician tried to give him the injections that hurt, he would punch them in the throat and get the shock stick. Even that would be better than walking through this stupid market with these crowds of smiling people ‘Bonjour-’ and ‘Joyeux Noël-ing’ each other, not even aware that he was going to shoot somebody in the head before tomorrow. None of them knew what the inside of somebody’s head looked like.

There were no more stops in the market. Once they were away from the shops, they slowed their pace again. Being out of the main throng of people helped Winter settle a bit. He liked that name – when Jack said it anyway. Made him feel inside a little bit like the earmuffs did, warmer and distracted, but on the inside instead.

From here, Winter could see the bridge over the canal they’d cross to get to the sniper’s nest. They were almost there. Then the mission and then they’d put him in the chair again and he’d forget.

They stopped at the park between the market and the bridge. Jack pointed at a park bench and used his handler voice, “Sit down and chill the fuck out, Winter.” Not angry, more exasperated.

Winter followed orders. That’s what he did. And glared at the couples giggling and ice skating at the rink in the park. Some couples held mittened hands and others skated past slowly, an arm slung around their lover’s waist. He looked down and stared at his knee, twisting one of the buttons on the wool coat he wore to blend in and shrugged his shoulders up, hiding his face behind his own scarf.

He heard Jack mutter to himself, but with the earmuffs, the scrape of skates, people talking, and Christmas music, Winter couldn’t hear what he said.

Jack sat down next to him. “That was supposed to take longer. We’ve got almost an hour before we need to… arrive at the ‘party.’”

“Je suis désolé.” _I am sorry._ Winter listened to the words that he said – they sounded almost like someone else was talking – empty and emotionless.

Jack was sitting close, but not touching him, which was nice. Most of the time Winter did not like to be touched. “Want the rest?” Jack asked, offering the rest of the cocoa. “You did all the work for it.” The start of a smile flickered and died on his face.

Winter took the cup and sipped. It was, in fact, better than any sex he could remember having, but that whole conversation had been a daydream. A very dangerous thought floated into his awareness: _Ce n'est pas juste. Eto nechestno._ **It’s not fair.**

“Quit holding your breath, Winter. Deep breaths.” Jack said. The words were orders, but not _demands._

Winter risked a peek in Jack’s direction. The handler was looking away, mouth pinched at the edges, but the muscles in his jaw didn’t twitch, so probably not angry. Winter offered the cup back to Jack.

Jack looked at the cup and then made eye contact for a moment, “Nah. I had two already – go ahead,” he sighed.

“Je suis désolé,” _I am sorry._ Winter offered, meaning it this time. He sipped the cocoa again, which was just starting to lose its heat.

“Yeah, me too.” Jack reached up to take the earmuffs, “You don’t need these anymore.”

Winter brought the hand up that wasn’t holding the cup, and held the earmuffs in place. “Non, les cache-oreilles sont chauds.” _No, the earmuffs are warm._

Shaking his head in irritation, Jack mumbled, “If you ain’t the most contrary sonofabitch I ever met, I don’t know who is.” But there wasn’t much heat to the words and the pinched look faded. “Come on.”

Winter finished the hot chocolate before it lost all its warmth and threw away the cup, then stood and walked to the bridge with Jack.

Several couples stood together, but the foot traffic here was light, probably because the buildings along this canal weren’t professionally decorated. A few windows were framed with blinking colored lights or had electric candle decorations. Winter transferred the package from one shoulder to the other, watching the lights as their reflections shifted and danced on the water.

“Close your eyes, Winter – got a surprise for you,” Jack said. Not an order.

Winter glanced up, suspicious, because there was an emotion he couldn’t decipher in Jack’s tone. After studying the handler’s face a moment, Winter closed his eyes.

Jack said, “Hand out.”

Winter stuck his hand out and something smooth and round was plunked unceremoniously into his palm.

“Go ahead, take a look,” Jack said and paused. “Merry Christmas, Winter.”

On opening his eyes, Winter found a large, deep purple plum. He stared at it, then looked back at Jack uncertainly.

Jack’s face softened slightly around the edges, “It’s yours. Go ahead, better eat it now before we need to be in position.”

Winter stared at the plum in his hand, then stole a glance back at Jack. He frowned – he didn’t have anything to offer. But he ate the plum anyway and went back to watching the lights flicker on the surface of the water, thinking.

He finished the plum, then held out his hand, “Give me a dollar.”

Jack gave him an extremely dubious look. “I don’t know what you think you’re gonna do with that,” he groused, but handed over a dollar bill when Winter made a hurry-up gesture with his fingers.

Dollar bill in hand, Winter shoved the brown paper package containing the high-powered rifle into Jack’s arms. He turned his back to the handler and he heard Jack mumble, “Shit.”

When Winter heard Jack start to shuffle toward him to see what he was doing, he gave a sharp warning glance over his shoulder. “ _Nyet._ ”

Jack rolled his eyes. “We’ve got fifteen minutes and need ten of that to get there.”

Winter nodded in acknowledgement, fingers smoothing the creases of the dollar bill and felt vaguely dissatisfied. He’d folded the stained dollar bill into a lop-sided five-pointed star. One of the side arms was shorter than the other, but it would have to do. They were out of time.

He peeked over his shoulder, “Close your eyes.”

Jack rubbed his forehead, losing patience, “For chrissakes, Winter… Fine… fuck it.” The handler closed his eyes.

Turning around, Winter continued using as much of his body as possible to hide the star that fit in the palm of his hand. He grabbed Jack’s free hand and hastily pressed the star into his palm. “There, take it.”

Winter grabbed the package away from Jack and stood straight, making a conscious effort to not shift around or gnaw on the inside of his cheeks. He waited for Jack to say something.

The handler had opened his eyes during when Winter took the package with the rifle. Giving Winter a quick examination and, finding no threats, he looked to see what Winter had given put in his hand. A dozen emotions flashed over Jack’s face in rapid succession. In a second, they were all schooled away. “Thank you.”

“It’s not –” Winter started. _It’s not very good. It’s not enough. It’s not enough._

Jack shook his head, staring at the dirty, slightly rumpled star in his hand. “I like it – really. Thank you.” He stared at it for another long moment, swallowing, his throat made a soft clicking sound and he breathed through his nose.

“ _Joyeux Noël_ ,” Winter mumbled, not knowing what else to do or say.

“Yeah,” Jack looked up toward the lights strung over the bridge, the bulbs swinging in the breeze that was picking up, blowing down the canal. He let his breath out in a soft whoosh.

“Je suis désolé,” _I am sorry._ Winter said quietly.

“You got nothing to apologize for,” Jack said firmly, stuffing the star into his pocket and switching to a more professional tone of voice.

Winter tried again, “I’ll forget.” As if that might be the right thing to say. The sense of déjà vu was almost overpowering.

“Yeah, I know.” Jack’s throat clicked again when he swallowed, but his voice didn’t waver. “Come on, let’s go. We got work to do. They’ll have my hide if we fuck this up.”

They walked together into the night toward the building where their sniper’s nest waited for them.

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO - Wishing a very Merry Christmas to my friend Nava, who breathes life into this ship. :) Thank you again for being awesome! :D
> 
> And "Always in My Headspace" is a lyric quote from "Lovely" by Billie Eilish. "If the Fates Allow" is a lyric quote from "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" by Songwriters: Hugh Martin, Ralph Blane.


End file.
